


Dragged to the Depths

by audreycritter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Blood, Charity Dinner, Fantasy Horror, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mythological Beings - Freeform, canonical loss of a parent, little brother to the rescue, ruined tuxedos, the one night they leave the masks at home, tw: near drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 08:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16594688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Dick sees something during a charity dinner aboard a yacht that makes him leap into the bay.Jason finds him in time to pick up the pieces.





	Dragged to the Depths

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for brambleberrycottage as part of Cerusee's GoFundMe prompt drive.

There it was again.

Dick Grayson leaned on the railing of the yacht, tumbler of ginger ale cradled against the palm of his hand, and squinted at the dark bay water.

Again.

A sliver of light reflected off something in the distance, and in the murky midnight of the water’s surface, the glittering shine turned to metallic red and green.

Dick straightened, one hand gripping the polished rail. He peered hard into the night, cursing his useless tux and the lack of gear he regretted not hiding on his person. Some collapsible binoculars would be great right now.

Without taking his gaze off the spot— it was still fragments of familiar red and green— he set the tumbler down on the lilting deck. The rolling was too gentle tonight for the glass to slide very far; it was a perfect night for a charity dinner on the bay. It had been clear all evening, and now the moon was full and bright overhead.

In the moonlight he saw a hand raise out of the water and it pulled at him, the sense of emergency forcing every other thought out of his mind. His nimble fingers unknotted his tie and he tore off the jacket, too, kicked off his polished shoes.

A single leap put his feet on the railing. He balanced, checked direction, and leapt. The noise of the party on the broader deck cut out behind him when he hit the water in a smooth dive. He resurfaced and began paddling, long trained strokes cutting through the calm water.

The red sparkled in the moon now and that was definitely a slender arm. For a wild moment he thought it was Damian, out as Robin despite orders to stay in at home while Dick and Bruce put in a show at the dinner. Signaling him?

No. The red and green were too bright, the arm too exposed. Damian’s gloves and hood made him nearly the color of the rolling water in the dark. This was designed to catch light, to throw it— maybe a swimmer adrift from the shore earlier.

The closer he got, the more dread crept up through him. The water was frigid, but the air was warm, and this was…this was something else. His limbs froze for a breath and then he was treading water, frowning at the quiet, waving form.

 _Not waving, but drowning,_  a woman’s voice said, so clear it was like she was whispering into his ear.

Dick shook his head and glanced back at the boat.

“Dickie?” The voice clarified into tones achingly familiar, a sound he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten until he heard it again.

Despite the icy horror in his gut, he whipped back around toward the figure. His eyes filled with tears. He began swimming slowly toward her, the Flying Grayson leotard more distinct now that he was closer.

“Mom?” he choked, coughing on water.

The part of him screaming to stay back was silenced with a firm clap of some interior door when she began singing.

_“He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease.”_

He didn’t know how, but Jason had come back. Damian had come back. So many others. Maybe, just maybe, somehow this was…

She was beautiful. She was Mary Grayson, smiling at him, beckoning, singing and it had been so long since she’d sang to him that his chest felt cracked open.

“Mom!” He grabbed for the reaching arm, shaking waterlogged hair out of his eyes so he could see her face.

His fingers closed around stony slime, stinging his hand and melting him to the inhuman texture. Bile rushed up his throat at the same instant she smiled, revealing rows of razor fangs black with rot.

Everything that had been Mary Grayson in her face vanished, shifting into features pale and foul, ashy scales of rotted fish and empty white eyes. The song she was singing continued in his mother’s own voice for a second longer, while he was paralyzed and sinking with his hand still stuck on seaweed-sticky skin.

He slipped beneath the surface and the song turned into a harsh, grating note of high and raucous triumph.

Then, when it joined him beneath the surface, maw of jagged teeth nearing his neck, he came fully back to himself and he fought.

He kicked and struggled with it, sinking deeper and deeper, while the voice whispered again in his ear, in her voice, the  _stolen_  voice.

_Too late, Little Robin._

* * *

Jason Todd sat with his legs dangling off the small recreational fishing pier, watching the surf roll in while drinking tea from a waxed paper cup. He hoped the tea would settle the prickly unease that had seized him.

There was something in the air in Gotham tonight, a curdled atmosphere that reeked of magic and evils older than the first cobblestones of the city’s streets. His nerves thrummed with sour remnants of the Lazarus Pit’s supernatural reversal of his very cells, and it had become hard to keep his finger from laying tight against a trigger. He’d given up on patrol and stayed in a crowded cafe just long enough to buy jasmine tea.

Far off, down the coast, he could see the white hull of the yacht anchored near Cape Carmine.

The Red Hood helmet sat next to him, the cloaking turned on so it looked like a standard motorcycle mask; a hoodie zipped over the symbol on his chest made him look just like a guy in a brown jacket. He’d declined Bruce’s invitation to join them, but now he wrestled with himself over whether or not he regretted that decision. Maybe the air didn’t teem with tendrils of wicked magic out there.

Maybe it did, or maybe it was all in his imagination. His mind did that sometimes— it would nudge him toward panic over things that weren’t there, weren’t real, or were long gone.

He crumpled the empty cup in his hands and sighed.

Then, a low moan from the sand below the pier drew his muscles taut with wary energy.

“Hello?” he said.

Another moan. And then, very faint and incredulous, “Jay?”

The wavering voice was one he recognized immediately, would have known anywhere. He abandoned the empty cup and his helmet to slip down onto the beach, his boots sinking a few inches deep in bay water.

“Dick?”

His hand was on his holster just in case, but no mimicking monster swarmed out of the dark. It was just the murmuring crash of low waves breaking, and another moan from the figure slumped against a wooden support beneath the pier.

Jason plowed through the shallow water, boots throwing up salty spray, in his haste to get to Dick. In the dim light, he could make out shiny, slick stain covering Dick’s skin like oil.

Blood.

“We have to get you out of the water,” Jason said gently, crouching. “It’s too dark down here. What happened, Dickie?”

Wide, startled eyes stared back at him. Dick had one arm wrapped around the wood and when Jason reached for him, he flinched back and nearly went under keeping himself out of Jason’s reach.

Jason snatched his hand back as if stung.

“Let me see your teeth,” Dick demanded, voice trembling on only the last word.

“What,” Jason said, frowning.

“Teeth,” Dick repeated frantically. “Your teeth, Jason, let me see your teeth.”

More than he needed an explanation right now, he needed to get Dick out of the water and somewhere in good lighting— somewhere dry and warm. Jason shrugged, and obliged: he bared his teeth at Dick, turning his head one way and then the other.

“Happy?” he asked. “All there. No cavities.”

Dick lunged for him, arms locking around Jason’s neck, and before Jason could shove him off, he was muttering, “Out, get me out, out of the water, Jay, we have to get out, it’ll…it’ll…”

When Jason tried to look out at the bay, confused, strong and freezing hands grabbed his chin so tightly it hurt his jaw.

“Do  _not_  look,” Dick said, his tone like iron. “Whatever you think you see or hear, do not look. I’m not sure I killed it, I’m not sure, so don’t…don’t…we have to get out. I don’t know if I killed it, or if it’s toying with me, get out, get out.”

By the end, he’d slurred back into desperate pleading. Jason didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. He twisted so Dick’s arm was around his shoulder and he hauled him forward toward the sand, strewn with fragments of broken seashells. Dick whimpered when Jason dragged him through the brushy seagrass overgrown by the public access steps, but Jason didn’t slow down until they were at a bench under a dull street lamp far from the shore. Dick struggled to keep his feet working beneath him, and Jason was mostly carrying him by the time he dumped him onto the bench.

Jason crouched in front of him and began to survey damage. What was left of the tux wasn’t going to be worth saving— it was shredded and stained. Dick’s neck had a ragged wound and another dozen places were bleeding. They all had the same oval shape, some stretched like a comb of razors had been dragged across Dick’s body.

It was worse than Jason had realized and not like anything he’d ever seen.

“Dick,” he hissed. “What the fuck happened.”

“I didn’t know,” Dick groaned, doubling over and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking. It couldn’t have been her, I should have known it couldn’t be her.”

“Who?” Jason exclaimed, pulling a roll of gauze out of his jacket pocket. He held it against Dick’s neck and his older brother didn’t react at all to the pressure.

“My mom,” Dick said into his palms. “My mom. It sounded just like my mom and it was in my head  _singing_  and I killed it, I don’t even know if it was human once but I killed it and Bruce is going to kill me. It was all so dark and fast and I couldn’t breathe and…and…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jason said. “In the  _water_? Something was singing to you in the water?”

Dick nodded without looking up.

“I’m an idiot. God, it sounded so much like her, Jason, just like I remember and I haven’t heard her in  _so_  long, I just wanted to hear her.”

His shoulders, one bloodied and raw beneath his torn shirt, shook.

“You saw a fucking Siren,” Jason breathed, glancing at the water. “A siren in Gotham. Goddamn. Just one?”

Dick nodded again, an animal whine in his throat.

“You killed a Siren in Gotham. How…”

Jason was still gazing out at the coastline and Dick reached up and roughly grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down until their foreheads were pressed against each other. His eyes were closed but he seemed determined to keep Jason from looking again.

“Brass belt buckle. Used the prong. Stabbed it in the chest and the head. It died or gave up, I don’t know, I don’t know, I was underwater and I couldn’t breathe and then I was swimming and telling myself not to pass out.”

“Shit,” Jason exhaled. Dick’s face was clammy against his own and he struggled for a minute to pull back, slowly prying Dick’s hand off his neck. “I swear I’m not looking, Dickie. I have to get you inside somewhere and clean you up. Is Bruce still at the dinner?”

“I don’t know.” Dick sniffled, and his voice took a frantic pitch. “Call him, Jay. Call him and tell him to bring the yacht in. Get everyone off. He’ll think of some excuse, but you gotta…”

“Calm the hell down, Dick, I’m already calling.”

Jason stood next to Dick and risked looking in the direction of the yacht. It was golden with light against the shadowed cape.

“Hello, Jay!” Bruce answered in the sweet, light way he spoke whenever he was near people who expected Brucie. He sounded like he was faking being tipsy, too; there was laughter in the background, like marbles spilled on tile floors. “I hope everything is okay!”

That was the cue, the  _say the word and I’m on my way_  cue, the one Jason had missed and was getting to know again.

“Dick was attacked by a siren, and no I’m not shitting you, an honest-to-god siren. He thinks…” he paused, and glanced at Dick, who tensed suddenly on the bench. He was shaking his head. There was no way to do this but to rip the bandaid off, and let it sting the both of them. The rules about non-human creatures were fuzzy anyway. “He says he killed it. You need to get everyone on shore in case there are more.”

“Absolutely, Jason,” Bruce said cheerfully. There was a hard edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Tell Damian I’ll tuck him in when I get home.”

 _Kids_ , Bruce said, to someone nearby on the yacht.  _They’re the sweetest, aren’t they? If you’ll excuse me, a moment._

The conversational buzz faded and there was a click, like a door closing, over the line.

“Where are you? Is Dick alright?” Bruce asked, serious and low. “What happened? I thought he’d gone home. He’s sure it’s dead?”

“I found him south of the cape,” Jason said. “He’s conscious but torn up. He seems lucid enough. We’re near Folley Ave, by the Big Mouth tackle shop before the pier, but we aren’t staying. I’m taking him to a place I have.”

“Ventura St,” Bruce said.

“Did anyone ever bother even  _trying_  to explain the concept of secrets to you?” Jason demanded. “Yes. Fuck. Thanks, now I have to move again.”

“I keep track in case you’re injured. I need to know the places to check,” Bruce said, so matter-of-fact about the assumption that he would come looking that Jason’s mouth clapped shut.

“Whatever,” he said, trying to sound flippant. “You can find us, then.”

He hung up before Bruce could.

“Let’s go,” he said to Dick, pocketing his phone. There was a button sewn into the lining of his sleeve and he pressed it— dozens of feet away, his abandoned helmet fizzled and sent up a small plume of smoke. The visor had been cracked anyway.

Far off on the bay, the thin shriek of a fire alarm sounded, followed by shouts carried across the water.

“B just committed a felony for you,” Jason said, offering Dick a hand.

“That’s how he says I love you,” Dick joked weakly. “Is he pissed? He’s pissed.”

“What? Fuck, no. Not at you. I’m probably gonna get yelled at for something, somehow, but you get to play the ‘I’m bleeding,’ card.”

“Remember when…he yelled at me more?” Dick asked, gasping as he walked. He leaned heavily on Jason while he limped. “You could get away with anything, but if I bought the wrong jeans we’d end up fighting.”

“Dick, I’m really not in the mood,” Jason said, warning. There were some things he didn’t want to revisit right now.

“I’m just sayin’,” Dick continued anyway. “I served my time. You’ve about run the course on yours. It’s time to let Tim or Cass take a turn. Tim’s gonna blow off college, so that should do it.”

“Well, hell, I’ll have to yell at him, too,” Jason said, grateful for how quickly and easily Dick steered the joke into more comfortable territory.

“Just like I did to you.” Dick hissed and Jason paused for a minute, letting him catch his breath. “The torch is passed.”

The next block was silent, and the few people who passed them kept their heads down and didn’t look too closely. Dick seemed like he was fading too much to keep up conversation, and Jason jostled him when they turned to the nondescript door to one of Jason’s holes.

“Dickie, stay awake.”

“Uhnnn,” Dick said, his head lolling against Jason’s shoulder. “So…glad you…were there. Looking?”

“Mhmm,” Jason said, deciding to not get into his feelings about magic and the atmosphere at the moment. “Heard you ditched the party.”

“Huh,” Dick said. He stumbled across the threshold, on the low concrete stoop.

“Watch the step,” Jason said, after catching him.

“Thanks,” Dick slurred. “Asshole.”

“I could drop you right now,” Jason threatened, flicking on the light.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

It wasn’t until Jason had Dick stripped out of the ruined tux, wrapped in a blanket on the couch with a sheet thrown under him, that he began to get worried about how quiet Dick had grown. He was staring blankly at the wall, his breath shallow, while Jason cleaned the ugly bites with an antiseptic rinse. It wasn’t supposed to sting, but Jason knew it did anyway; Dick didn’t shudder or inch away once.

“Dick.” Jason’s mouth was dry. He was bad at this, at being a good brother. He blamed the years he’d lost, but more and more that felt like an awful excuse. “Are you…okay?”

“Did you just ask if I was okay?” Dick asked, lifting his head from the back of the couch. “Wow. I thought hearing that question from B was weird.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason grumbled. “I was just trying to be nice. Geez.”

“I’m fine,” Dick said, after a tense silence. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t.” Jason got another bandage out.

Another long silence.

“I have to be,” Dick said, tightly. “I have to…to…”

Jason stopped cleaning the seeping wound on Dick’s side because Dick was shaking. The trembling started in his limbs and then he was gulping for air, hunched forward.

Instinct got Jason onto his feet and beside him on the couch, pulling Dick into one of the hugs he was so good at offering everyone else.

“Dickie, I’m one of the big kids now,” Jason said, into his hair. “Don’t insult me by trying to shield me from shit.”

“You’re a kid,” Dick protested hoarsely. “A kid.”

“M’not,” Jason said, keeping his voice calm like  _he_  was the one talking to a scared kid. “Haven’t been for a while, whether you like it or not. I promise you aren’t gonna traumatize me.”

It was like he’d unlocked the sluice gate.

The wail that tore out of Dick was full of agony and, though he’d never admit it, did frighten Jason. He held him while Dick wept and gripped his shirt in his fists.

“I’m sorry,” Dick babbled a minute later, his breath still hitched. “I’m sorry. I thought it was her, I thought it was really her, and I’d forgotten what she  _looked_  like, Jay, I forgot what she looked like.”

“I know,” Jason said, because he was no stranger to the realization that details and features were blurring in his memories. It was the sort of thing you told yourself you’d never forget, but time was cruel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He rested his chin on Dick’s damp hair and shushed him while his hold tightened.

“S’ok, Dickie. It sucks balls, but you’re okay.”

“I know, I know,” Dick nodded, sounding more composed but exhausted. “Bruce  _is_  gonna yell at me. I was stupid. It was stupid.”

“No,” Jason said. “I miss my mom, too.”

He swallowed.

“Dick?”

“What,” Dick said miserably.

“I would have gone in, too. If I’d heard my mom. I forget what she looks like sometimes. I can’t hear her voice anymore. I would have…” Jason didn’t mean for his throat to get so tight. “Fuck. You know what I mean. I would have had to go check. You aren’t stupid.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, sniffling. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Jason.”

For a few moments, Jason just held him while Dick’s rasping breath evened out.

There was a knock on the door and then, “I’m coming in,” steady and sure and the door was pushed open even though Jason knew the lock had engaged.

“If he yells at you, I’ll kick him in the shins,” Jason whispered against Dick’s ear and Dick laughed, a thin and fragile sound.

“Dick,” Bruce said, crossing the room. He was still in his tux. He crouched in front of them and reached out to lift Dick’s chin, stare into his face. “You’re alright? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you at the Manor,” Jason interrupted. Dick sagged against him and he could feel the relief.

Bruce studied Dick for another moment and then his attention darted to Jason.

“The car is parked outside. You’re coming?”

Jason nodded. “I’ll grab him some clothes.”

He disentangled himself and got up, and lingered just inside the bedroom door to shamelessly eavesdrop, his head bent against the frame. If Bruce so much breathed a word of reprimand right now, he was going to kick him out— at gunpoint if necessary.

When had he gotten so protective of Dick?

Was this how Dick felt about everyone else, all the time?

Whatever Dick said to Bruce, if there was anything, was inaudible to Jason.

Bruce’s answer was not. It was soft, softer than Jason had heard since he was recovering from burns at the Manor.

“You’ve had a rough night. You can tell me about it later.”

“It sounded like her, B, it sounded just like my mom.”

“Oh, chum,” Bruce said, the gravel of his voice somehow tender.

Jason went to rummage for sweats that would fit Dick. He joined them while Bruce was dabbing more antiseptic on a bite Jason hadn’t covered yet. Dick was nearly asleep.

“He was underwater,” Jason said, sitting on the edge of the couch again. “Al will need to check his lungs.”

Bruce nodded, his face pensive. There was blood on his cuffs now.

“Did you see it?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Jason said. “I felt it, though. The air’s been wrong all night.”

“Hn,” Bruce said. “I know.”

“It’s not your fault, B,” Dick mumbled.

“Hush, Dick,” Jason and Bruce said in sync. They exchanged a look and Bruce’s mouth twitched in a grim smile.

“Gotham,” Jason said, firmly.

“I called Arthur,” Bruce said. “He’s going to sweep the bay for us. I don’t want any of you out there again until he gives us the clear.”

“Yes, sir.” This time, it was Dick and Jason in quick unison. There were times to argue and there were times to follow orders. Jason didn’t particularly want to find out what a siren would sing to him.

“Home, Dick,” Bruce said, standing. “Can you walk?”

“Whatcha gonna do if I say no, Old Man?” Dick teased, trying to smile. It wavered.

“Make Jason carry you,” Bruce said, without hesitation.

“I already lugged his sorry ass three blocks,” Jason said, ducking under Dick’s arm before Bruce could. “What’s another twenty feet.”

“You’re coming to the Manor?” Dick asked again, mostly managing his own weight. “For real?”

“I gotta get Alfred’s baked reward for saving you,” Jason said. “That’s my siren. Alfred singing with scones.”

Dick’s laugh was broken.

“Too soon?” Jason asked. “Too soon.”

“No, I was just…imagining Alfred singing ‘Spoonful of Sugar’ in the pool,” Dick said, wincing when he laughed again. He coughed. “Still in his suit.”

“The scones are soggy,” Jason said. “I still go in after ‘em. It’s worth it.”

“That’s gross, Jay.”

Jason opened the passenger door of Bruce’s car for Dick and Dick all but crawled onto the seat, buckled, and curled up.

“I call driver’s seat,” Jason said.

“That’s not…” Bruce started. He handed over the keys. “Speed limit. Get him home. I’m going to go to the Penthouse and then wait for Arthur.”

“Get in, B,” Dick said. “Please.”

Bruce stared for a long moment in the direction of the bay, something Jason couldn’t read on his face.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go home for now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Attalus' "Sirens" because I've been obsessed with the band recently.


End file.
